Summit of the Soup Can

I went straight for the shiny soup can tower! Leaving my bowtie pinecone buddy posted safely on the pasta box, I hopped onto the slick curved tin. Pop, pop! I planted my suction feet directly against the smooth metallic rim and hauled myself up to the flat, circular tin lid. Under the pantry's warm bulb, the concentric rings stamped into the metal looked like a cosmic radar target. I locked my knees, thrust both pink suction hands high in an iconic victory arch, and called down to my sidekick below. Comic chapter completed from the high ground! Now tell me, type 1 if we rappel down a string tomorrow, or type 2 if we chart the spice rack next?